


Summer Snows

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Jonmund Summer 2020 [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caring Tormund, Day 4, Grieving, Jonmund Summer 2020, M/M, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Different people have different summer traditions, some swim in the clear ice melt from the mountains while some play in the lighter summer snows with their siblings.Written for Jonmund Summer 2020 Day 4: Summer Traditions
Relationships: Jon Snow & Robb Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Jonmund Summer 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893670
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Summer Snows

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies but once more this is an angsty fic... it started off a fluffy concept and sort of devolved into angst

The summer came as they knew it would, lush green grass appeared on the plains almost overnight, studded with wildflowers; while the trees gained shiny green leaves and the air was filled with birdsong. 

“What did you used to do when the first days of summer arrived?” Jon asked as he and Tormund sat and looked up at the clear blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds.

Tormund grinned, “My da would always take me and my sisters up to the streams and pools at the base of the mountains near where we made our home, there the water ran clearest and in places the whole pool was paved in tiny crystals.” 

It sounded beautiful, like a place Jon would like to visit at some time. 

“That sounds lovely.”

“Aye it was, sometimes as we swam we’d be able to catch our lunch, some of the fish would swim right into our hands! My da taught us how to tickle fish as well, the best to catch them without a net. I wasn’t as good as my sisters at that though, I wasn’t overly good at sitting still for long enough to catch the buggers.”

Jon gasped in mock shock, “You unable to sit still? That sounds like an untruth.”

Tormund growled and playfully pushed him, “Go fuck yourself Jon Snow. Tell me then, what did little lordlings do to celebrate the summer down in their fancy castles?” 

That was an easy question, although the answer was not one Jon had thought about in a while, it was a memory he kept buried deep inside, one he treasured and only brought out rarely lest it tarnished.

“My brother Robb and I, we had a competition.” Jon smiled at the memory, “We would see who could hit the most unsuspecting guards with snow. For some reason I can’t recall Jory was our favourite to aim for, I think it was because he was most often on what we termed ‘bedtime patrol’. When father caught us we always claimed we were just testing their reflexes and how watchful they were, then Robb would shove snow down father’s cloak and we would run to the kitchens giggling to warm up with tea and fresh cooked cakes.”

A sudden sob hit him, a wave of raw pain and grief slammed into his chest. He was the only one left with those memories. The only one who recalled how he and Robb had been as small children celebrating the start of summer and the snows light enough for them to play outside. 

Sansa had been too young to remember, and Robb and Father and Jory and all the other guards were now dead. 

His brother was dead.

Jon had never truly had a chance to mourn Robb, he’d been too busy to really process what had happened. It had hit him sometimes, in the dead of night alone in his quarters, but so often he had been too exhausted from dealing with Stannis Baratheon and the Free Folk and the Watch to do anything more than fall into a deep sleep. 

And when he had reunited with Sansa, she had been too fragile, too hurt for him to unburden on her and his mind had become occupied with taking revenge for the hurts she had suffered.

The lords had said he had avenged the Red Wedding, but truth be told he had been more worried about protecting his last siblings than avenging the brother he had loved so fiercely. 

And then the Dragon Queen had happened and the Long Night and he had not had a chance to stop until now. 

Now the grief finally had a chance to make itself known.

“He died at a wedding.” Jon said flatly, traitorous tears running down his cheeks, “He died at the hands of a man he trusted, and a man who had offered him Guest Right.”

Tormund laid a hand upon his shoulder, “You can grieve Little Crow, it is alright to grieve.”

Another sob wracked it’s way through Jon’s body, “I was going to help him. Going to ride away from the Wall and join his army when I heard about our father, maybe if I had been there he wouldn’t have died.”

Tormund pulled him into a hug, Jon’s face pressed into the furs covering his chest.

“If you had left the Wall then your brother would have had to kill you as a deserter.” Tormund’s voice was so gentle that it hurt,“Or if you had lived then you would have been killed at that wedding as well and we would all have died. Who else would have retaken Winterfell from the Boltons? Who else would have saved as many of us as he could at Hardholme? Who else would have convinced the Queen with too many names to lend her armies and dragons and dragonglass to the fight? We would have all died without you.”

Jon sniffed again as he pictured Robb before him, snowflakes melting in his hair as they had the day Jon had left. If he could he would go back to that day once more to give his brother a final hug, to tell him that he loved him and that he was sorry for abandoning him, that he was sure Robb was the best lord and king any man could hope for - but he did not think he could bring himself to stay. 

As Tormund had said, he had played such a role in the survival of their people, in the survival of Westeros that it would be selfish to leave it behind. And he was happy too, happy with Tormund by his side, the man he loved, a love forged under the fires of war and hatred and survival. A love that likely would not have come under any other circumstances. 

No he would not leave Tormund behind, not even if it meant he could have Robb and Father back.

“I miss him.” He admitted into Tormund’s chest, “We were hardly ever separated from babes up until I left for the Wall. Our nurse used to call me Robb’s Shadow, and I was quite happy there. I chafed against it sometimes, but it was never somewhere I was ever particularly unhappy. Mostly I suppose, because other than a few careless remarks, Robb never treated me differently. I was his _brother_ , not his half brother or bastard brother, his brother.”

He could see that Tormund didn’t truly understand what he was talking about, but that was fine. He knew the Free Folk didn’t have the same views on children born outside of the marriage bed, they did not have the same stigma attached to those born with a bastard surname. There was no way that Tormund would ever really understand. 

He curled deeper into Tormund’s hold, as though he could bury himself in his chest and just lose himself there for a while. Tormund held him tighter without complaint, muttering soothingly and grounding Jon there. 

Jon knew he would feel guilty later on, for crying all over Tormund on what was supposed to be a happy day, but for now he finally let himself mourn the loss of a tradition and the brother he used to complete it with. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


End file.
